


here’s to another day with you

by komet



Category: The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Boys In Love, Fluff, M/M, Minho has lots of dumb nicknames for newt, POV Newt, Post Scorch Trials, Post-Canon, SPOILERS FOR THE SCORCH TRIALS, Trauma, gayyyyy, let them rest, minewt, newts having a hard time, theres a lil shower scene but nothing explicit, they’re both very tired
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-26
Updated: 2018-01-26
Packaged: 2019-03-09 14:08:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13483077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/komet/pseuds/komet
Summary: “He was getting to that point though, that point where he’d begin to question whether the water running down his face was from the showerhead or from crying. He forced his thoughts elsewhere, screwing his eyes shut and bowing his head slightly, letting the water pound against his neck instead of burning his face. He thought of just something, anything to occupy his mind.But then he didn’t have to, because suddenly there was a warm body pressing against his, and he knew it was Minho without having to turn and look at him.”aka the scorch trials are over, and newt doesn’t know whether to be grateful or guilty. WICKED’s taken every bit of certainty from him, but he does know one thing: he still has minho by his side.





	here’s to another day with you

For now, it was over. It was all over, just for the time being. That was how things had been ever since it started going screwy way back in the Glade, ever since they dragged Tommy’s scrawny butt out of the Box. Temporary, short-term, “for now”...take your pick, but this was how things were. They could never rely on anything to last long, because their whole world could be snatched away from them in an instant, like it had been several times now. But right at the moment, they were done. And that was all he could bare to think about—what was happening in the present.

The Scorch Trials were over, evidently. They’d reached the safe haven, and they’d..what, they’d passed the test? Some of them, anyway, Newt remembered with a pang. He sighed to himself. He was taking a shower, thank the lord, for the first time in two entire weeks. It felt good, the hot water rushing over him and washing away his sins. Washing away the memories that he’d rather just forget. The echoes of poor Winston’s agonized screams between his ears, the awful sight of Jack, writhing and bleeding in that crater. The vice around his heart when Teresa took Thomas from them, the overwhelming fear that he was going to lose another friend.

And he remembered turning around during that wretched, nightmarish storm after yet another deafening crack of lightning, and seeing one of the most important people in the world to him literally burst into flames. Thomas, oh, thank God for Thomas, he’d scrambled to help Minho, and it had taken all of the Brit’s remaining strength to not join the two of them, make sure he wasn’t about to have another hole in his heart like the one Alby’d left. But he’d whipped back around and he’d continued to push against the howling wind, because they all had to get to that building as fast as they could, and what help would Newt be to Minho, with his limp that had nearly knocked him off his feet several times already? Perhaps then the water that had blurred his vision wasn’t just from the beating rain. But only maybe. Newt hadn’t let himself really cry for a long time, because he knew he might not be able to stop if he got going. Never was one to blubber anyhow.

He was getting to that point though, that point where he’d begin to question whether the water running down his face was from the showerhead or from crying. He forced his thoughts elsewhere, screwing his eyes shut and bowing his head slightly, letting the water pound against his neck instead of burning his face. He thought of just something, anything to occupy his mind.

But then he didn’t have to, because suddenly there was a warm body pressing against his, and he faintly recognized the rub of a towel against his skin as a muscular arm leaned around him to shut the water off. And despite being in the heat for who knows how long, he barely felt the cold because there was so much steam clouded around him. He knew immediately that it was Minho without having to turn and look at him, because he was the only shank who’d even consider getting this close to Newt when he was butt naked in the shower. And the lips that connected with his shoulder were familiar, the spark that lit in him was one he’d felt before, and the feeling of being wrapped in these strong arms was one he’d grown used to.

“You tryin’ to drown yourself in here, shank?” Minho murmured right against Newt’s neck, his breath trailing across his skin enticingly. Newt managed to huff a soft breath that he figured might count as a chuckle.

“Eh, might be,” he said quietly in response, aiming for a joke but not quite hitting his mark judging by the way Minho grunted and tightened his hold on Newt’s middle. The blonde gave a short hum, relaxing into Minho as he pushed his hair away from his forehead. He was tired, and he would’ve stood that way forever, Minho up against his back, holding Newt against him in an entirely timeless moment. He actually might’ve started to drift off had they stayed there much longer, but Minho eventually slid his arms away, hands splaying noticeably over Newt’s hips with a light squeeze.

“Alright, pretty boy, better head out before they start to think you really did drown, yeah?” Minho said, raising a brow at Newt as he produced another towel from seemingly nowhere and handed it to him. Newt wrapped the towel around his hips, and then he turned to really get a proper look at Minho for the first time throughout the whole encounter. He looked much better already—his stupidly perfect hair was already getting stupidly perfect again, despite being a bit damp. His scarcity of clothing, as well as the layers of dirt washed away, allowed Newt a clear view of his injuries. There were several burns streaked across his powerful form, but they would heal. Some cuts and scrapes, bruises and gashes scattered here and there, but none of it was anything Minho wouldn’t recover from. He’d have some new scars for sure, but he was okay. He was okay...

“Hey, blondie, you with me?” Minho said, snapping him out of his reverie and looking at him with raised brows. By reflex, Newt shook his head partly in apology and partly in dismissal. He offered a smile that felt weak even to him as he started toward the Runner, reaching out to squeeze his friend’s shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah. Just feel like I’m about drop any second I’m so bloody tired.” He chuckled lightly, shrugging. Minho reached up to pat Newt’s hand, nodding his understanding; he looked dead tired too.

“Yeah, alright. I’ll tuck you in, c’mon, cupcake,” Minho said sarcastically as he put his hand between Newt’s shoulder blades and steered him out the door before he had the chance to make good on his words and actually drop. Newt realized that he really must’ve been in that shower room for a while, because the others were already off doing their own thing. It was pretty much either sleeping or eating. He and Minho got dressed and once he’d dropped his towel, the dark-haired boy still somehow had the energy to purposefully drop his gaze farther down Newt’s body than he’d have any business doing if they weren’t so close.

“You buggin’ moron. You really still got it in you to check me out, after all that?” Newt snorted, shaking his head incredulously as he pulled some clothes on. Minho was entirely unapologetic, and not even a little sheepish.

“Yeah, _especially_ after all that. I’ve earned it by now, don’tcha think? And hey, not my fault you got a nice ass.” Minho shrugged, smirking when Newt only rolled his eyes with a scoff.

“You’re ridiculous, y’know that?” He said, but he couldn’t keep the smile off his face. He was just glad to be alive, glad that Minho was alive and that he hadn’t changed much because of their tough journey through the Scorch. He was still the same Minho he’d fallen for, and yeah, Newt was probably still falling, if the sudden burst of warmth in his chest was any indicator.

Once he’d gotten dressed he toweled off his hair briefly, but he was too bloody tired to care beyond that. It’d probably stick up weird when it dried off, but shuck it, Newt couldn’t be bothered.

But suddenly he seemed to remember his leadership skills, and his mind flitted to his other friends. He realized then that he should maybe go and check on them. Maybe he wasn’t officially the leader anymore, but he still had a responsibility. “Where’s Tommy? ‘S he okay?” Newt said as he rubbed his face with his hands, turning to face Minho after stopping on his way toward a bed, brow furrowing slightly.

“That slinthead’s out there takin’ a nap, you don’t need to worry about him,” Minho snorted, taking the liberty of placing his hands on Newt’s chest and shoving him backwards, down into the bed. The taller boy grumbled as he dragged himself to scoot over, making room for Minho to clamber in next to him. The Runner had not bothered to put a shirt on, and this was nothing new considering that he usually slept shirtless, as Newt had come to learn over the years.

“Alright, alright, I get your point. What, were you gonna body slam me next, huh?” Newt said with an obviously fake tone of irritation, because truth be told, he was too damn tired to even properly feel the already-dull-to-begin-with aggravation. And evidently Minho could tell, because his demeanor didn’t change at all.

“Well, wouldn’t be the first time, would it?” Minho smirked, wiggling his eyebrows as he fastened his arms around Newt again, who didn’t have the energy to blush.

“Nah, it wouldn’t,” Newt agreed, voice already dropping with a drowsy edge. He felt his partner’s chest move with a chuckle as he set his forehead to it, tucked up against him. Things were pretty much perfect right then. The bed was soft, way better than sleeping on the desert sand with wind just about strong enough to rip his skin off his face, or on hard concrete. The fresh, clean scent of shampoo was a pleasant aroma, as well as Minho’s familiar and comforting smell. And for once, there was quiet. Not the heavy, buzzing silence, but quiet. There was no screaming or yelling, no roaring wind or clapping thunder or cracking lightning. It was just quiet. He’d call it peaceful if he weren’t scared of jinxing it.

He didn’t hear any snoring yet, so he figured that Minho must still be drifting off. So he chanced a quiet murmur, soft enough that Minho wouldn’t hear it if he were sleeping. “Thank you,” he mumbled into his chest.

Minho hummed absently, clearly waking himself up. “What’re you thankin’ me for, blondie?” He asked in a voice similarly quiet, words slurred with exhaustion.

“I dunno. Sticking with me. Takin’ over. Leading those shanks, keeping ‘em alive. You name it. An’ you mean the bloody world to me, so thanks for staying alive, I guess,” Newt sighed, able to faintly hear Minho’s steady heartbeat when the quiet returned for a moment.

“Don’t thank me for that, shuckface,” the dark-haired boy grunted after a beat had passed. “You couldn’t get rid of me even if you wanted to. I’m not goin’ anywhere, so get to sleep, yeah?” Minho told him, voice going almost surprisingly soft towards the end, and not just in volume. Newt gave a slight nod, though careful not to jostle Minho, whose chin rested on the top of his head.

Another few seconds of quiet. “Love you,” Minho rumbled, and maybe Newt was just delirious from the sleep fervently beckoning him, but he could’ve sworn he felt a light kiss against his head. Minho was being very gentle, almost uncharacteristically so, if Newt didn’t know him so well.

“I love you too.” He said, and moments later, with his mind now completely at ease, he was out.

**Author's Note:**

> feedback is appreciated! let me know how I can improve :)


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